


If You Leave These Woods, Remember Me

by baden_here



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: 1900s AU, A lot of music will be used to score scenes in chapters, Alternate Universe - 1910s, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - Relativity Falls, Folklore, Gen, Historical References, If you like Twin Peaks you'll probably like this, Minor Violence, Relativity Falls: Phase Shift (noordzee), Swearing, a lot of OCs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:40:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24186766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baden_here/pseuds/baden_here
Summary: As a means of getting out their twin sons out of the house and out of Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey, Caryn and Filbrick Pines send their children Stanley and Stanford Pines to their Great Aunt Mabel's house in Gravity Falls, Oregon. They soon find out that town's history of strangeness, as well as their family's, is something they weren't accounting for.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	1. A New Century, A New Rhythm

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Relativity Falls: Phase Shift](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/620086) by noordzee. 



On January 2, 1900, two days into the new century, a lackey of New York City mayor Robert Anderson Van Wyck (pronounced _WIKE_ ) was sent down to Manhattan’s Fifth Avenue to unveil something never before seen in the town’s history, let alone in the period since the city consolidated the five boroughs under one township a year and a half ago.

The reason why the mayor wasn’t there himself was due to the fact that he was never one to go out and do public speeches before the swaths of New Yorkers he represented. When asked why he didn’t give a single speech during his campaign by the departing mayor, Van Wyck responded “The people have chosen me to be mayor. I shall say whatever I have to say to them.” Though, when someone runs for office with the support of the corrupt but powerful political machine Tammany Hall, one can be forgiven for not pulling one’s own weight in a campaign.

Standing before a wash of faces on the corner of Fifth Avenue, the mayor’s lackey began to speak:

“Good morning ladies and gentlemen,” he announced. “It is with my great pleasure that on behalf of the great Mayor Van Wyck and the City of New York, that I shall now unveil before you the future of New York public transportation. I give you the ‘autostage’!”

The crowd en masse let out collective “oohs” as a double decker carriage pulled out of a garage near the corner and pulled up alongside the congregation by means of a metal pole banging up against black wiring above it.

“This bus right here is the first of its kind. It can run on an electrical current being spouted out from the wiring you can see over you into that metal pole attached to the vehicle. Thus creating a charge that gives the carriage the momentum to move onward,” continued the lackey. 

“How many people can ride on it?” inquired a man in the crowd.

“Seating for eight on the interior, four on the exterior,” said the lackey.

“Will this get rid of the horse drawn trolleys and buses?” asked a woman from the same crowd.

“No, all horse drawn transportation will still be in active use. This autostage will only be serving destinations through Manhattan’s Fifth Avenue. In general, this bus is just an experiment as of now in order to see how effective it may be, as well to see if public response is positive overall so that we can gauge if it is the correct decision to move forward in expanding the autostage so that it is accessible for the entirety of Manhattan Island, and then for the five boroughs.

"As of today, however, it has no set destinations, and it can only be used for recreation; so if you want a chance to ride the future, you may now have the ability!”

The crowd erupted in a boisterous cheer, as men and women began queuing up and hopping onto this new electric bus.

Across the street from the developing scene was a man in black, with short, choppy brown hair and a be-freckled face. He looked on in sorrowful discontent. Though this man was someone who was already ardently opposed to the current mayor and the political machine that swept him into power, viewing Van Wyck and Tammany as corrupt and a force for ill for the city he called home, he was more troubled by the scene in that he knew this was the first stone cast for the predictions of the future found in his subconscious.

For the past two months, Jonathan McCallister had been receiving visions in his dreams from a one eyed beast who laid in the shadows, never exposing his true form, and never giving its name (though with its voice, Jonathan could tell it was some creature who was most likely male, even with its shrillness). In most dreams he would just toy with Jonathan, but in others he would speak of great human atrocities to occur in the next century. Jonathan recalled when he spoke of the upcoming 100 years for the first time.

“Ya know, I wouldn’t get to comfy with this whole 20th century business”, he said casually. “I knew you New Yorkers a little while ago were gobbling up a whole ton of utopian fiction. What a bunch of nonsense that all was! ‘Oh, in the year 2000, there will be no hunger, no crime, people will be kissing each other’s babies’ and all that junk. No, the 20th century will be a lot worse off than the century before.”

“You mean there will be events worse than our Civil War?” pondered Jonathan.

“Oh definitely, without a shadow of a doubt,” enthusiastically responded the beast. “There will be great troubles going forward this next 100 years.”

“Like what?” implored Jonathan.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, I can’t show you all my cards yet. What fun would that be? It’d be like if when I first met you I told you when and how you were going to die.”

“Please, a hint, a sliver of information, please I beg of you!”

“Okay, Jesus, I didn’t know you were going to be this pushy. Fine, to kick this off, on the second day of this century, there will appear a bus with no horse by where you make a living.”

“Near 10th by St. Matthew’s?”

“Give or take a few blocks."

“Well, to be frank, that doesn’t sound like the apocalyptic events you were implying before.”

“Oh it’s not, but it will be the first sign of change for this new dawn. But that’s all you get for now, I have a lot more information in store for you, young man.”

“Wait!” Jonathan exclaimed.

“Oop, bye!” cried out the beast.

And like that Jonathan awoke from his bed in a cold sweat, fearful for what may come next in these dream-state interactions.

For the next two months, the demon would speak of two global wars that result in genocide and a bomb that could wipe out the world; he spoke stock market crashes, political controversies, plagues, etc.; but the first great atrocity that would occur in this century, would be the assination of the incumbent president.

“That can’t be true, there is nothing polarizing about President McKinley, who would want to kill him?” asked Jonathan.

“I dunno, that Garfield guy didn’t seem too wild and somebody shot him.” responded the beast.

“That is true…,” said Jonathan.

“Though for my two cents, just because we’re friends, I don’t think starting a war on the basis of sabotage from a foreign power with no proof of that happening, and then taking and subjugating the lands and their people will win you a lot of friends, you know what I’m saying?”

“Demon, I am not your friend, and I refute your predictions!” exploded Jonathan.

“Alright, suit it yourself," he cheekily replied. “But when that bus thing happens I don’t want you to come crying to me about how I was right and you were wrong.”

Now that that said electric bus had come into being, Jonathan was now incredibly distraught at the prospect that the strife detailed by his dreamworld nuisance would come true.

 _How could this be?,_ he thought. _How was this beast’s prophecy true? Why am I the one who receives such premenotions? I am a man of God, why must the Devil tempt me with his servants and tell me this information?_ The more he pondered such queries, the more he felt he was no closer to the answer.

So he went looking for someone who might.

* * *

“Excuse me, Deacon Anderson?” Jonathan timidly announced.

“Ah, Jonathan, come on in, have yourself a seat son,” warmly responded the deacon.

Deacon Luther Anderson was the head of St. Matthew’s Church, a formidable Catholic institution that had large congregation numbers for their two Sunday masses, as well as their Saturday and Wednesday evening services amongst New York Catholics. He was a much beloved man in the Manhattan community, primarily due to his charitable means, his forgiving attitude, and his good humored nature.

Jonathan was recruited by the deacon after reviewing his high academic markings from his time in the seminary in Hammond, Indiana, as well as from a service Luther saw Jonathan preside over in the brief period he was a priest in Bloomington, Indiana. He immediately took a shine to the boy due to his very jubilant interpretations of the Bible, which was something he looked for in his prospective priests. 

“Thank you, father," Jonathan said. “I am here before because I feel like I am being tempted by evil spirits.”

“Evil spirits, you say?” puzzled the deacon.

“Yes father,” replied Jonathan. “For the past two months a demon has entered many of my dreams and has ridiculed and tricked me.”

“What does it look like?”

“I do not know his-”

“His?” Deacon Anderson interjected.

“Yes, the demon appears to be male,” Jonathn answered. “But I am only able to discern that from his voice. The only physical trait I have been able to see is the beast’s singular eye, one that has a golden glow and a pupil that is just a thin, black rectangle.”

“Mm-hm”, said the deacon, perplexed but taking the priest’s words seriously. “Anything else of note that you wish to tell me?”

“Yes, though most of my subconscious encounters have revolved around the demon annoying me, this creature on some occasions will tell me of how this next century will be full of darkness and terrible events. He spoke of how the first tragedy will be the assassination of the president, followed by numerous other near apocalyptic foretellings, with all of them predicated or prefaced upon the opening of that electric bus contraption on Fifth Avenue.”

“Hmm,” Deacon Anderson responded. “And you say that these dreams are Satan sending minions of his to tempt you?”

“Yes father,” Jonathan said. “Either that, or this is a test of God to ensure that I am true in my faith in him. Though to be frank, I don’t understand why he is doing this now and not during my years in the seminary.”

“I might have a theory”, proposed the Deacon.

“What is it?”, desperately replied Jonatha.

“I think it's just your nerves.”

“Pardon?”

“Yes, I think this is just a manifestation of fears and anxieties that are being presented in your dreams due to your new role here at St. Matthew’s, which I completely understand. This is your hometown, and you want to do well, so your nerves are getting the better of you. You are just confronting those fears in your subconscious.”

“But what about the electric bus mentioned in my dream, how would I have known about this?” implored Jonathan, growing increasingly flustered.

“Oh that,” he laughed. “That’s been in the papers for weeks, you must have just seen a glimpse of it in the headlines.”

“What about the whole assasination thing?!”

“Look,” the deacon said with a comforting look in his eye and a hand placed upon Jonathan's shoulder. “You’re going through a lot of stress, and not only is it most likely because of you being new here at St. Matthew’s, but it’s also probably because you haven’t been doing a lot of service presiding. You’ve been in the side position for many masses, and whenever you have head presiding duties, it’s for one of our smaller congregations on Wednesday or Saturday.

“How about this,” he said as he and Jonathan strode towards the entrance. “I can’t get you to preside over this coming Sunday’s mass, but I can give you one of the Sunday masses the following week; and since I like ya, I’ll give you the 9 a.m. service. Maybe then all these dreams will stop happening.”

The proposal left Jonathan aghast. The 9 a.m. Sunday service was the most populated out of any of the masses given throughout the week at St. Matthew’s. To give a 27 year old newbie this responsibility was an extreme risk on Deacon Anderson’s part. But what was Jonathan going to do, say no to such a prospect?

“Deacon Anderson, you have yourself a deal!” he exclaimed, vigorously shaking the deacon’s hand.

“Go forth son, show me what the man I saw in Bloomington can really do,” the deacon said enthusiastically.

“I won’t let you down father, just you see,” shouted Jonathan as he bounced and trotted towards his office in the church.

* * *

After two days, Jonathan was feeling as though he was spinning his wheels in what to discuss for his mass. He at first thought about selecting the passage about Christ's 40 days and nights in the desert from the Book of Luke, as well as the Binding of Isaac from Genesis, but felt that those stories would be a bit on the nose in relation to his current tribulations. At a certain point, in order to get his mind off of the issue of constructing a mass, he decided to go visit his sister Sylvia.

Sylvia lived with her husband Adam and their two year old son, Samuel. Adam was a cobbler who worked in Hell’s Kitchen, while Sylvia stayed at home with the child. Despite the fact that they grew up in a very devout Irish Catholic house, Sylvia ended up marrying into a Jewish family with her husband. While their father was a bit apprehensive about his daughter marrying and converting, he immediately took a shine to her fiance when he met him, and gave his blessing to the marriage. 

Though unannounced, Sylvia was immediately jubilant, with a wide grin present when she saw Jonathan’s face at the door.

“Jonathan!”, she yelped. “Oh my goodness, how have you been?”

“I’m fine, how about yourself?” he replied.

“Wonderful, just wonderful. You know I was talking to Adam the other day about how I haven’t seen you since the new year began and how it was just a shame you couldn’t come to New Year’s Day dinner.”

“My apologies sister,” shyly replied Jonathan. “Deacon Anderson had invited me over to his house to meet his family and to have his wife’s famous lamb, which was what all the other priests and deacons at St. Matthew’s could talk about during the Christmas season. And, ya know, I wouldn’t be able get on his good side if I didn't show and what not.”

“Oh I understand,” responded Sylvia, with her hand flipping downwards. “Being in a new church, especially one back here in Manhattan is a big opportunity to make a name for yourself, so good on ya for taking that shot. You want to step inside and I’ll take your coat?”

“Oh, yes, thank you,” Jonathan stuttered out as he quickly began the process of removing his coat. As they began strolling into the house, Sylvia peered back at Jonathan.

“Still, it would’ve been nice if you showed the deacon what’s what’s and blew him off to visit your sister," Sylvia said with a coy smile wrapped around her lips.

“Ha-ha, well knowing the deacon he probably would have said something along the lines of ‘Oh you were with your family on New Year’s Day instead of me without me knowing? Well family is always the right priority to have in a holy man’s life, next to the Lord, of course. _And_ let me tell you, I’m no Lord’," Jonathan said in the booming tone of his superior. The two of them laughed, doubling over due to the imaginary encounter being precisely on the nose.

“Oh goodness, you were talking about having lamb at the deacon’s house?” Sylvia inquired.

“Nothing but the finest sister," Jonathan confidently replied.

“Oh my, remember when Papa would cook a lamb for Easter with Mama? That was some of the best food we would have the whole year.”

“Oh do I ever,” he replied with eagerness. “I would stay out later than I needed, searching for more Easter eggs so that when I got home the food would be ready to eat.”

“So that’s why you were never in the house until right before dusk!”

“Exactly, there was no way that I was stepping foot in the house until that food was being placed upon the dining hall table on that off-color silver platter we had."

The two giggled about these memories.

“So wait," Jonathan said. “You, Adam, and the kid don’t have lamb on special occasions?”

“No,” interjected Sylvia. “Apparently that’s not a tradition that most Jewish households are fairly keen on.”

“What is it not kosher?”

“No, it is, it’s just something we don’t do.”

“Well I can say you Semites are missing out,” Jonathan said with a chuckle.

“Oh hush up you,” Sylvia retorted with a grin. “You’re lucky that Adam isn’t here to hear you say that. He’d raise quite a racquet about comments like that, even if they are jokes.”

“Yeah, where is Adam?” Jonathan asked.

“He’s at work right now.”

“And the kid?"

“Fast asleep in his room.”

“Ah, I see.”

Before silence could fall on the house for any long duration of time, Sylvia spontaneously let out a cry.

“Oh, I almost forgot, I have some news for you Jonathan.”

“Umm..okay,” he responded, apprehensive of at the idea of any new information, regardless of who it came from.

“I’m pregnant!” squealed Sylvia.

“Oh my goodness, that’s wonderful Sylvia”, Jonathan replied, thoroughly relieved. “How long have you known?”

“Only after the holidays, but I’m assuming I must be about a month or two into gestation.”

“Well congratulations sister, I just think that’s tremendous. Have you figured out the names for each gender yet?”

“Oh, me and Adam haven’t gotten that far along into the preparation process yet; ya know we’re still in the “alerting loved ones” portion of all this,” she said adding a petite giggle afterwards.

“Well make sure to invite me to the baby shower and whatever else you have in relation to this momentous occasion,” Jonathan said.

“Oh, you’re such a sweetheart you. What happened to my older brother who used to push me around?” The two of them laugh up a storm.

After some more conversation and tea, Jonathan then leaves Sylvia’s house in order to get back home before nightfall; his mind having now been cleared of the fog that clouded his mental landscape.

And like that, the drive to create a service was renewed.

* * *

By the Thursday before his mass, Jonathan had fully constructed his mass from beginning to end. The topic he chose, inspired by his sister’s pregnancy, to be about the joys of life and rebirth. _Titus 3_ , _Galatians 3_ , and _John 4;_ all would be read at this service.

“Excuse me, Deacon Anderson,” Jonathan spoke, stepping into the doorframe of his superior’s office.

“Yes Father McCallister?” the deacon responded warmly.

“I just wanted to let you know that I was going to be heading out right now, and that I have completed the plans for this upcoming Sunday’s 9 a.m. mass.”

“Oh well that’s perfect, thank you for informing me of that son. I look forward to it.”

“Thank you deacon," Jonathan beamed. He speedily exited the church and began his route back to his humble abode in Chelsea.

That night, he read from a novel he had purchased recently, and cooked himself a pasta dish that he only made for special occasions; and nothing was more special than would he accomplished back at St. Matthew's and back in his hometown. Jonathan was practically glowing with contentment.

Not only that, but with the good news of his sister’s pregnancy alongside this success at the church had led to a stoppage of nightmares involving the tormenting demon. Once he had a purpose and a joy in his life, all of the torture that he went through in his subconcious state seemed to evaporate. _Maybe Deacon Anderson was right,_ he thought. _Maybe it was all just my nerves_. With these thoughts swimming in his head, Jonathan retired for the night and went to bed.

As soon he fell asleep he was immediately confronted by the dark void that was the setting of his encounters with the beast. He surveyed his surroundings before finally laying his eyes on the singular eyeball floating in the abyss.

“So, how’s my favorite cleric doing?” the creature seemed to say with an implied smile wrapped around his lips.

“No, this can’t be possible, I was through with you, I was on the path to jubilance,” Jonathan hyperventilated.

“Well I guess you made a wrong turn somewhere, huh pal?” responded the beast.

“No, no, you are not real, _this_ is not real. You are just a figment of my imagination. Or a being sent by God to test me in some way.”

“Oh this is real. This is as real as it gets. And just between the two of us, I have no ties to the old man upstairs.”

“So then you are a minion of the Dark Lord himself, come to torment me.”

“ _Eengh_ , wrong again ol’ pal.”

“Then who are you? Reveal yourself beast, or I will be forced to strike thee!”

“Alright, alright,” said the demon, exasperation clearly coming through in his voice. “I’ll show you what I look like. But this is only because I love you.”

The creature began to hover from the shadows, exposing a form that Jonathan did not expect in the slightest.

The creature resembled that of one the pyramids of Giza, but as if the buildings were constructed within a two-dimensional realm; like an Egyptian comic strip come to life. The demon was decorated in a large matte black smokestack top hat, a dark cane, and a bowtie in the middle of his triangular form.

“ _Soooo_ , how do I look?" The beast did not have a mouth, only glowing a faded yellow hue concurrent to the nasally tones of his words.

“What… a-are you?” inquired Jonatahn, not knowing if he wanted the answer.

“The name’s Bill Cipher, nice to finally throw my name”, he snidely spoke.

“No, I mean… what are you as a being. You are not of this earth, nor of any realm I’ve ever had described to me.” 

“ _Really_ , because one of the old farts you study was the one who created me.”

“You are of the good book?”

“Well sure I am”, he stated. “I was formed the day that the sky and floor became locusts in Egypt waaaaaay back when.”

“The eighth plague…,” Jonathan gasped out. “But wait, I thought you said you were not of God’s creation?”

“Well in my mind I wasn’t created by God, since the man calling the shots at the time of my birth was old man Moses.”

“But that's not how it is in Scripture.”

“Look, all I heard about this whole ordeal was about some guy talking to ol’ Ramses about ‘bringing locusts to your country’, and then _poof_ here I was. In my mind, the one who spoke the words to invoke the event that formed me is the one who created me; which is Moses, not God.”

“So evil was brought into fruition due to the plagues?” croaked Jonathan, unwillingly to believe such a thing.

“Oh you betcha!”, he cheerfully chirped. “And there’s a lot more incidents like that that, judging from the looks of you, you'd rather not want to hear.”

“So did you not want to follow and be like the great prophet Moses after he created you?” queried Jonathan.

“At first, yes. I was totally willing to go wherever that man was traveling. But when he went to the mount and decided to start dictating God's will and testimony, with stuff like ‘I am your God, there will be no other Gods before me’ I wasn't down with the guy anymore.”

“So what happened then?”

“I cursed his trip. I made it so that he wouldn’t be able to get the Jews to the promised land for years; all the way until the old man croaked.”

“It is _inconceivable_ that you are the one to have corrupted the Israelites in Moses’ caravan to betray his and God’s word."

“And yet it is,” said Bill, a strong sense of smugness coming through in his voice.

Internally, Jonathan was inconsolable. How could a being of such cartoonish proportions and no relation to any Judeo-Christian afterworld entity be someone who had made a clear influence on an event in the Bible, and also knew of events that would perspire in the future. Tears began to fall all around Jonathan's due to this frustration, but he would not allow himself to fully cry.

“What must you tell me tonight, beast,” Jonathan says through gritted teeth.

“First off, it’s Bill; rude. Second off, since you ask, I must inform you of your sister’s baby deal.”

Jonathan instantaneously went pale white. His heart began to palpitate at a rapid rate. His breaths now short and quavering.

“What must you tell me of my sister demon?” he asks cautiously.

“Well the first thing you should know is that your sister Sylvia will have twins,” Bill replies in return.

“And…,” Jonathan says curling his fingers into clenched fists.

“What? That’s it. Your sister’s a real lucky lady if you ask me.”

“There’s… more. I know it. You have never been the harbinger of good news, and I understand that, I get it, it’s not your M.O., but I must hear to be aware of what awaits the future offspring of my sister, oh please, spirit I beg of you.

Bill Cipher begins to hover Jonathan, now crumpled to the ground, sobbing, as if his life is about to be cut short. There is a clear sound of an electrical hum being emitted from the being, reminiscent of the powering up of a Tesla coil he saw when he was a teen. Bill begins to speak, in a low, authorial tone that sends a shock to Jonathan’s system.

_On to your sister, a boy, a girl,_

_Both born from same egg,_

_One will lead a life well lived_

_While the other is smushed through the dregs._

_Both will grow far from here_

_But one will return,_

_The other will go to a place not known_

_Though inhabited by those who burn._

_A line made, a course set,_

_The two shall reunite_

_They'll bicker, they'll bark, they'll claw like pets do_

_And then, out of nowhere, one will take flight._

_This rejected child now all alone, no kin of their own_

_Now living amongst the trees,_

_They speak these words to any who'll hear:_

_"If you leave these woods, remember me."_

There continues to be the hum of electricity amidst the void, as Bill hovers back to where he floated before. Jonathan sits, floored by this poetic exposition.

“W-wait… what does this mean? What does this mean?!” he bellows. 

Bill begins to cackle as he recedes into the dark, reverting back to his singular eye appearance, with the pupil appearing in the shape of his body form, and his voice distorting to a horrific level.

“Don’t leave beast!” Jonathan continues to shout. “Beast! Beast! Beeasst!”

All of sudden, as if jolted by his own dreamworld rants, Jonathan awakes. He is dripping wet, and is breathing irregularly. His house is dark, and his neighborhood and building is silent. He now knows that his mass is not appropriate after what he has gone through. He now begins to frantically pick apocalyptic passages and brainstorms a sermon to give in relation to those passages. He will not change anything else but these two elements, and will only alert the readers designated for the passages of said divergences. St. Matthew’s, God bless it, would shoot down his new proposed mass in a minute if he were to make drastic, conspicuous edits to what he had originally planned. This mass needed to be heard by the people of this city. Like a good plow, it needed to scour.

* * *

If one were to visit the New York Public Library on 42nd Street in Manhattan, one would come across collections of sermons given by clerics of different denominations of Christianity across the five boroughs of New York, dating back to 1895. If one were to find the transcribed homilies of St. Matthew’s Church on 10th Avenue in Chelsea, one may come across this:

_St. Matthew’s Church_

_January 14th, 1900_

_Homily by Father Jonathan McCallister_

_Good morning, brothers and sisters (*the congregation says good morning in return*). I know that the readings we have had today are of a very bleek and troubling nature. Especially in regards to the fact that we are just coming off of the Christmas season. A time in which we celebrate the light and love that Christ, Our Lord, brings before us in his birth. “Why follow such a joyous period of our faith by dragging us into the mud with darkness and despair?” you might say. Well in truth, it is because it is needed for you people._

_I do not wish to be the one to be too personal about my relationship to God and Christ_ _, as well as I dictate my faith. Especially in my homilies. But in this instance it is pertinent that I must inform you of what has been occurring in my life for today’s word:_

_Two and a half months ago, I began to be visited by a demonic spirit in my dreams. I at first did not know the creature’s form or name, or why he appeared before me in my subconscious. The only things I could discern was a sole eye with a thin pupil and a shrill, nasally voice. Along with that, he would infrequently inform me of future events. He spoke of ships sinking, global wars that would result in genocides, bombs that could destroy our planet, global weather fluctuations, and much more. He said the first atrocity would be the assassination of the President of the United States, and that this would all be prefaced by the creation of horseless bus carriages on the second day of this year. The **SAME** ones found on Fifth Avenue here on Manhattan Island. _

_In the readings we have heard today, Exodus 10, Revelations 13, and Mark 13, we hear of events that speak of end times, and how we’ll know it when we come across signs such as plagues, beasts, wars, and famines; all which beautifully analogized by Jesus through the leaves of a fig tree being shed because of the end of summer. Well ladies and gentlemen, I have seen that shedding fig tree, and he is a being who not only explicitly expresses these end time events, but is a creation of the plague recited in today’s Old Testament passage. Folks, I will not sugarcoat my intentions of this homily: I need for you all to be vigilant and faithful that our Lord has the best intentions to protect all of us. Because if one is not prepared mentally, physically, and spiritually for these events to occur, you may all perish in the wrath that is the apocalypse found at the end of this century. Beware the demon named Bill, and may God watch over your souls. Amen._

_(End of Transcription)_

* * *

On January 15, 1900, a bidding war at the offices of the Rapid Transit Board at City Hall in New York began with the intent of finding the contractor to shell out the most cash in order to begin construction on the New York Subway System. At the end of the day, John B. McDonald was the winning bidder, with the contractor offering $35 million to develop the grid that would become the underground transportation system that is known today; effectively continuing the march towards modernism that the city had been beginning to undergo for the past 5 years.

It was also the day Father Jonathan McCallister was let go from St. Matthew’s Church on the 10th Avenue in the Chelsea district of Manhattan.

After having such a “fire and brimstone” homily the previous day (one that, reportedly, not even the Archbishop of the city was fond of, and he _adored_ those types of homilies), Deacon Anderson had no better alternative than to remove him from the church, as he knew that Jonathan was troubled soul that would not meld well with his more kind hearted ideals he was attempting emblazon as the church’s principles. He asked for Jonathan’s cloak and collar back, gave him January’s pay, and gave a hug goodbye before sending him off on his way. Two days later, Jonathan visited his sister Sylvia, a broken man.

“Oh my, you look awful,” said Sylvia. Jonathan’s eyes had dark circles enclosing them, and his skin’s hue was that of sheep’s wool.

“Thank you for the kind words sister." Jonathan was in no mood to hear about the decay of his physical state, even if from the ultra caring angle Sylvia was attempting to take in order to approach the issue.

“W-well I mean I was just taken aback, is all," she defensively replied. “What happened?"

“I have been removed from my position as priest at St. Matthew’s” he said, taking a seat at the kitchen table across from his sister.

“What? How could this have happened?”

“I gave a homily in relation to some dreams I’ve been having, and Deacon Anderson didn’t take kindly to it."

“What were your dreams?"

Jonathan leaned in. He briefly studied the setting of Sylvia’s household in order to ensure complete solitude between the two of them. When he realized he was in good company, he began to speak softly to Sylvia.

“For the past two monts, I have been tormented by a triangular demon named Bill Cipher who was created from the skins of the locusts during Moses’ Eighth Plague. He has on multiple appearances told me of the horrifying occurrences to happen in the next century, with the first being the assassination of our current president. All of these predicted events predicated on the introduction of an electric bus on this island, which happened at the beginning of the month on Fifth Avenue. It is my understanding that these will all lead to the destruction of the earth at the end of this century."

During the beginning of this monologue, Sylvia wanted to laugh, due to the silliness of it all (a triangle demon named Bill- _pfft_ ). But as Jonathan continued, with the same intense severity as he began with, and the information growing more upsetting, she no longer found the situation to be a laughing matter.

“Oh…Oh my God”, Sylvia gasped quietly, using a few choice words she normally wouldn’t utter. “I…I can’t believe what I am hearing”.

She crumpled in front of the kitchen window, overlooking the back alleys of Midtown, with tears beginning to paint her skin. The thought of knowing that her grandchildren, and maybe even her children, would see the face of the planet be destroyed was an incredibly disturbing thought indeed. Through the faint streaming of light and dust particles that seemed to be pirouetting amongst her, she spinned to face her brother, not sure if she could choke out the next few words.

“D-d-did Bill...this d-d-demon y-you speak of”, she began. “Did he-he-he say anything about what might happen to you… or to me and my f-f-family?”

At this moment, even more color began to be drained from Jonathan's skin. He was shook to his core in a way he never thought was possible.

Jonathan lets out a heavy sigh. “No," he states flatly.

Sylvia rushes over and embraces her brother. “Oh thank you Jonathan, thank the Lord," she chokes out, tears streaming down her visage, and mucus and snot flaring in and out of her nostrils. 

Jonathan pats his sister's back, blankly peering out the window with the look of a thousand yard stare. The moment he answered his sister's inquiry, was the moment he checked out mentally from the scene. The lights were on, no one home though.

The next day he left Manhattan and left New York City. He determined that he would move back to Hammond, Indiana and find a respectable line of work. He would not keep the faith.

* * *

On August 30, 1900, a much discussed heavyweight boxing match occurred at Madison Square Garden in Manhattan between former heavyweight champion James “Gentleman Jim” Corbett, and the young upstart Charles “Kid” McCoy, a.k.a. “The Real McCoy”.

In the fifth round of the fight, Corbett knocked out McCoy, going out with a W in what would be his final square-up. In a later interview with McCoy, the man himself had thrown the match for $5,000. However, Corbett claimed that he was the one to throw the match for an undisclosed payment (unknown due to the fact that he ended winning the fight) in an interview published at the end of his life, post-McCoy admission. To this day, no one knows who was truly factual party.

That very same night, in Midtown Manhattan, Sylvia McCallister Pines, wife to Adam Pines and mother to three year old Samuel Pines, began to go into labor. She was rushed to Lenox Hill Hospital in order to prepare for the birth. She would be in labor all through the night and into the next day.

On the morning of August 31, 1900, at 6:18 a.m. (with a few seconds of differentiation), Sylvia gave birth to a pair of twins, something that both shocked and overjoyed the Pines couple.

“What were you two thinking of naming them?” asked one of the nurses.

“Well, jeez, this is all overwhelming,” responded Sylvia, still out of breath from the 14 hours of labor. “But I believe my husband and I were thinking of naming the boy Mason, and the girl Mabel”.

“Excellent choices,” cheerfully beamed the nurse. “I will fetch the paperwork needed to file everything for the births. It’ll be a second.”

After the nurse’s departure, Adam and Sylvia were left alone in the room with one another and their two newborns. While observing the two children, Sylvia began to notice that her son had something unusual on his forehead.

“Honey,” Sylvia cooed to her husband. “Do you see these little bumps on Mason’s forehead?”

“Hmm…,” replied Adam. “Oh those! Wow, that’s something isn’t it?”

“Yes, yes,” she impatiently replied. “But what pattern is it? Because it is a pattern, and one I recognize. I just can’t put my finger on it."

“Huh, I don’t quite know myself, but it does look famil-wait I got it!”

“What is it?”

“It's the Big Dipper. The constellation out of the southeast right now”.

Sylvia gazed back down at her son Mason, giving him a warm smile while peering down at him.

“Dipper," Sylvia stated. "A child of the stars. Children of the stars the lot of you." She began to peacefully doze off with her babies, while dawn began creak through the blinds of this room in Manhattan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so this is my first fan-fiction, and I feel super out of my depth here haha. So constructive feedback would be awesome.
> 
> It should be noted that Bill claiming he was born from the eighth plague of Egypt is just that: a claim. I always liked the original concept of Bill being someone that would torment by saying whatever it is that might rub the one encountering him the wrong way. Though that doesn't mean that such a concept won't be revisited.
> 
> A lot of this fanfic will relate events in the Pines family lives to historical occurrences based around the specific time period the chapters will take place in. I thought this would be fitting since the crux of the original show is based on the defined time period of the present (all of their adventures are over one summer, that's it), as well as how the past can catch up to a person. Having actual events of the past occur around this family's history just seemed really cool to me (though I'll try to have the events be more of importance to the plot, rather than using them in a sort of Forest Gump "hey, I remember that"/"know what that is" type deal).
> 
> Samuel is just a dumb substitute for Shermie. They both start with S's; sue me.
> 
> Alex Hirsch on frequent occasions have talked about how Grunkle Stan was Jewish, so I liked the idea of having Dipper and Mabel being brought up in a Jewish household. Though by the fact that their mother is a convert (I'm sorry, using a Catholic priest as a means of introducing Bill was too good of an opportunity) doesn't mean that the twins are ethnically Jewish (this especially being an issue for the fact that Mabel in the Stan role will most likely become somewhat of an agnostic), Stan and Ford themselves will be on the other hand.
> 
> I hope all who read this will enjoy it.


	2. A Plan for the Summer

“HEY! HEY! HEY! All you crazy kids out there!” screamed a man on the radio. “This is your host with the most Phil “The Thrill” Shannon, and you are listening to WBE AM radio, the Hit Parade!”

“W-B-E A-M! NEW-ark…,” sang a choir with musical accompaniment.

“That’s right, That’s right, WBE AM, serving the greater Newark area including Glass Shard Beach," the man continued. “It’s just a quarter before two, and hey, I just got back from seeing a new monster movie from the Land of the Rising Sun. Yep, that’s right, made by the same guys who did _Godzilla._ And man let me tell you, this movie is wild man. It’s got a moth and two twin girls on an island who are tiny, it’s wild, man, a real trip.

“But enough from me, let me play some of the hits you’re here to hear. This record has been climbing the charts, and just this week has jumped 8 spots up to #8. This is 'Shout! Shout! (Knock Yourself Out)' by Ernie Maresca."

Even before the disc jockey could finish his words, the record began playing, with the sounds of “wop wop wop” and a drum beat blaring from the radio speakers.

_Shout Shout knock yourself out.._

_Come on yell yell loud and swell_

_You gotta Scream scream you know what I mean_

_Put another dime in the record machine.._

_Hey we're having a party now it's just begun_

_We're all over here and we're having fun.._

_Joe's all alone and he wants to be kissed_

_While Mary's in the corner and she's doing the twist.._

_Shout Shout knock yourself out.._

_Come on yell yell loud and swell_

_You gotta Scream scream you know what I mean_

_Put another dime in the record machine.._

Standing behind the small radio on the windowsill overlooking the docks of the beach storefront, as well as behind the sink with a bevy dirty dishes in sudsy water, Caryn Romanov Pines swayed her head a little to the sounds of the music, but in general could not truly enjoy what was being broadcasted.

Two more weeks. Two more weeks and then she would have to deal with her two twin sons’ rambunctious escapades that always gave her and her husband more trouble than they were up for. In the past summer alone, Stanford and Stanley Pines (referred to as Ford and Lee respectively [there father Filbrick was not expecting twins and had no interest in making name changes) had adventures searching for the fake Jersey Devil, had created too many get rich quick schemes to count (with most just being variations on the lemonade stand gimmick), had loudly imagined pirate adventures and pulp inspired treasure hunts (note to self: lock off Filbrick’s bookshelf), and even had one run in with the law due to one of those “imagined treasure hunts” becoming real.

“Are these two boys your’s?” gruffly demanded the moustachioed officer who pushed her children Stanley and Stanford in front of her.

“Why yes,” Caryn replied with a level of frustration in her voice. “Yes they are. What have they gotten into this time around Mr. Officer?”

“Well your two sons trespassed onto private property, causing a disturbance to those who were still working at the complex after hours.”

“Oh dear G- what the hell were you two thinking going into private property?” shouted Caryn.

“We didn’t know that warehouse was up and functioning, honest,” squealed Ford, attempting to hold back tears. “Jimmy Marino down the block told us there was tre-”

“JIMMY-FREAKIN-MARINO TOLD YOU ABOUT THIS PLACE?!?” Caryn hollered, not even noticing the slight discomfort on the cop’s face. “That man is a two-bit con artist who was giving you’s the run-around.”

“Look Ma, we’s sorry, we didn’t know that that was an open warehouse and that Jimmy was lying to us,” explained Lee. “And look, not even scratch on us. We’re fine.”

“Well that’s all fine and dandy,” growled Caryn. “But do you see this police officer on my doorstep? It ain’t that simple now.”

“To be frank Mrs. … uh,” stammered the officer.

“ _Pines_ ,” she forcefully replied. “Mrs. Caryn Romanov Pines, sir.”

“Well Mrs. Pines, no one at the warehouse decided to press charges,” the officer continued. “So for now, your kids are off the hook.”

“Oh thank the Lord,” Caryn exhaled. “Thank you so much for returning these two home for me, it’s such a great relief. This will never happen again sir, I promise you.”

“Well I’ll keep that promise m’am,” the officer graciously answered. “Have a good night!” The officer then walked back into the dark.

The twins afterwards were grounded for two weeks, with the both of them communicating to the few friends they had through bottled messages, as well as them just loitering outside their window chatting until around the time that either Ford or Lee knew one of their folks was returning home.

Incidents like those were making any high hopes Caryn had for the summer seem very fanciful. Just like it had been for the previous 12 summers, the 13th summer was proving to be another one full of stress and migraines.

 _There must be a way to get out of this_ , pondered Mrs. Pines. She sat at the adjacent kitchen table and let the dishes soak in the sink, tapping her fingers against the woodgrain oak.

 _I could send them to camp_ , thought Caryn. At that moment, that seemed to be the most rational thing to do in order to get her kids out of the house and out of town. However, she then realized that most camps in the state and country always had their campers participating in scheduled out activities for the entirety of the day and the entirety of the three months. Knowing her sons’ individualism streaks, she already sensed the phone calls from the counselors saying that the misbehavior and havoc wrought by the twins was at a fever pitch and that they must be retrieved before further incidents were to occur. So that was out of the question.

 _Maybe they could go on summer vacation with one of their friends’ family_? Though that also seemed unlikely. While Caryn has never been able to meet the families of Lee's and Ford’s friends, she did know that each twin’s friends ran in circles that neither respectively had any time for. Lee’s friends were all wannabe greasers, who only ever wanted to look cool and commit low-level offenses (i.e. truancy) that they believed would catapult them to said coolness. Ford’s friends, by contrast, were those who found things like particle physics and seagull migration patterns fascinating. No matter how the families were altogether, some of what was in those friends would most likely be a part of said families; leading to what would most likely be issues or (worse) acting out by one of the twins, resulting in the same results as the first option she conceived.

Caryn furrowed her brow and tapped more fervently at the tabletop surface, trying to construct a solution for this predicament, before finally slumping down in her chair. There was no way that she could just give up, and there was no way she was going to go through another “police at her doorstep” predicament, with the conclusion now being an actual legal fine or her children sent off to juvie for a month.

Suddenly, it all clicked for her. _I got it!_ , Caryn thought. _I could send the twins to a family members house for the summer_. It was such an ingenious idea that Caryn couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it earlier. Then she realized why it wasn’t such a forgone conclusion.

Most of the Pines and Romanov families lived in or near Glass Shard Beach. If the kids wanted to escape back home, they could easily do so if they pleased. The only obstacle they would have in doing so is by not having the money for transportation; though by knowing the effectiveness of some of the business gimmicks, actually getting the money didn’t seem so far fetched.

Once again Caryn slid down the splintering kitchen chair. _C’mon Caryn_ , Caryn internally motivated. T _here’s got to be someone who lives outside of the Newark area. C’mon think, think_.

There was her second cousin who was a linguist who lived in Montreal with his French wife, though that wouldn’t work due to their fairly bohemian lifestyle. There was Filbrick’s great-uncle, who remained the only Pines still living in Massachusetts, but she knew that her active kids’ energy would be too much for the relaxed attitude gentleman bound to a wheelchair. The more and more she rattled off people’s names, the more she could not come up with a perfect example for the Pines twins summer home. Then it hit her: Mabel.

Her aunt-in-law Mabel Pines was one that was fairly reclusive from the family. Caryn had only met her three times in her life: the first New Year's party with the Pines family after Filbrick and her started dating, her wedding, and the funeral and wake of Filbrick’s dad. She was a fairly eccentric soul, attending the latter two events with a turban upon her head and numerous gold necklaces around her neck like a deadbeat pawn broker. She apparently also owned a niche business that was never fully detailed to Caryn in her place of residence, Gravity Falls, Oregon. She was really nice to Caryn, and was always keen on giving advice on how to maintain a good relationship, stating that she was a sort of an amateur dating columnist in her own right. Outside of that, Caryn knew next to nothing else about the woman, which wasn’t helped by the fact that her husband didn’t particularly care for her all that much and didn’t so much as have her phone number in the family contacts book. Though none of this stopped Caryn in moving forward in attempting to enact this plan.

* * *

_Brrrrrrnnnnngg_

“Alright class, have a good weekend! Make sure you have your papers ready for me by the beginning of next week!” bellowed the teacher of 8th period 7th grade English at Elementary P.S. #28, though her words were barely heard as a tsunami of children began racing out of the classroom as soon as the bell screamed in the classroom. 

“Hey bro, wait up!” hollered a kid with a red and white striped t-shirt on.

“Nah man, I’ve been wanting to beat you to the bus all this month,” a kid with a pilot’s jacket and thick rimmed, Buddy Holly-esque glasses yelled in reply. “If you wanna talk, you gotta catch me!”

“Oh it’s on!” The striped shirt kid immediately took off towards his taunter, as the two deftly maneuvered the school building, en route to the main entrance of the school, where the busses would line up waiting for the students to hop on to get home.

The two were racing down the long corridor that led to the front entrance, with the striped shirt kid barely trailing behind the pilot jacket kid. Though when they finally passed through the doorway, it was clear who had won.

“Wow, you almost had me there Lee,” said the kid in the pilot jacket. “But I finally did it: I finally beat you to the bus this time!”

“Ah shove it Ford,” responded Lee playfully punching his compatriot. “I let you win that time. I was gettin’ tired of beatin’ you’s all the time.”

“Oh yeah?” Ford smugly inquired. “Then how come I saw you grumbling to yourself when you slipped up on the corner that led to the stairs, huh?"

“Ah shut up,” laughed Lee, punching his partner once again. Ford retaliated to this gentle ribbing by punching Lee himself.

“Ay!” shouted a woman. “Ford! Lee!”

The two boys' heads snapped to the far left side of the curb in order to see who was calling for them. They came to find their mom in the family station wagon waving for their attention.

“Ma?” the two brothers spoke bewilderingly in unison.

“Why’s Ma here?” Lee asked. “She almost never picks us up at school.”

“Hey, your guess is as good as mine,” Ford responded.

The brothers began walking slowly over to their mother’s car, making sure that they weren’t hallucinating due to the bad cafeteria food they had for lunch. The pace at which the two were traveling just irritated their mother, who already looked anxious as it was.

“Jesus kids,” their mom groaned. “Why’d ya walk here like I was gonna frickin’ bite the both of ya?”

“Why are you picking us up right now?” Lee inquired. “Are we in trouble?”

“Better question is, is Lee in trouble,” Ford interjected, with a slight grin planted on his face.

“Hey I’ll punch for you real if you wanna go there,” threatened Lee with his right fist raised.

“Not before I get out of this thing and smack some sense into both of ya’s,” their mom intervened. “Now look, I gotta go do something at the library for a second and you two are coming with. Now get your asses in the car and let’s go, _capiche_?”

The boy jumped in with no question, knowing how loud and angry their mom could get with them, and not trying to make a scene here at school. They were both unpopular as it was, so they weren’t going to make it worse on themselves. When they finally got to the library, Lee was the brave soul to ask why she needed to go to the library.

“I need to make a call to someone and I don’t have their number at home,” their mom answered. “So I’m going to get a White Pages here.”

“Why don’t you just use the one we have back at home?” questioned Ford.

“Well they live out of state, okay? Now no more questions. You two run off and browse whatever you want, and if you’re good I’ll let you's check em out, okay?” That convinced the two immediately.

“Oh man, I’m gonna find some manuals on radios,” Ford exclaimed.

“I'm gonna see if they have any new Doc Savage novels,” Lee enthused.

The two kids bolted out of the car, heading for the entrance. _Perfect_ , Caryn thought. _That should keep the twin busy for the next half-hour_. After going through some Oregon maps in reference, Caryn was finally able to figure out what county Gravity Falls was in. With that knowledge, she strolled on up to the main desk of the library.

“Excuse me?” Caryn politely implored. “I was wondering if you have the White Pages for Roadkill County, Oregon?”

“Well let me check,” replied the librarian, a cute looking woman of about 40 years with cat glasses. After a second of rummaging under the desk, she reappeared with an extraordinarily thick book in her hands.

“Why yes we do,” the librarian beamed. “The White Pages for Roadkill County, Oregon, right here.”

“Thank you so much,” Caryn said. “Is there anyway that I could make a call in the building?”

“Why yes,” she replied. “There are some phone booths by the front entry that are in service.”

“Thank you, this should only take a few minutes.”

Caryn entered one of the booths and began filing through the book in order to find her in-law.

“Let’s see…,” Caryn muttered to herself. “Palmer...Palance...Pertwee...Peters... _AHA!_ Pines!” She put money into the machine and dialed up the number. After a few rings, she received an answer.

“Hello?” croaked the woman Caryn presumed to be Mabel. She sounded a lot older than Caryn last remembered, though she was one to not take the best care of herself. The first time Caryn met her at that New Year's get together she was wearing her nightgown.

“Hi, yes,” Caryn replied. “This is Caryn, Filbrick’s wife. I wa-”

“Oh Caryn!” exclaimed Mabel. “How ya been? Oh, I haven’t seen you since Samuel’s funeral. You, Filbrick, and the twins have been doing good, right?”

“We’ve been doing great Mabel, and it’s good to hear from you as well. In fact, you bringing up Ford and Lee was actually related to why I was calling you in the first place.”

“Oh really? Well please, go on.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about getting the twins out of town in order for them not to be trapped in either the house or in Glass Shard. So after mulling it over a bit, I thought you were the perfect person to send them over to. Ya know, what with the woods and all that around where you live. So what do you think? Would you be okay with that?”

“Okay with that?!” she hollered loud enough that Caryn momentarily had to pull the receiver away from her ear. “I’d love to have Ford and Lee come down to Gravity Falls!” This was the news that Caryn wanted to hear, as she silently said “yes” and did a little hop in the booth.

“So Filbrick’s okay with this?” Mabel asked.

Caryn went pale in a split second. It had not occurred to her that this would be something that she would have to talk to Filbrick about. If it were any other place or any other family member, Filbrick wouldn’t even mind. Caryn would have casually mentioned it to him, to which he would most likely respond with a “hmph...that’s fine” and that would be all. This summer destination being Mabel’s neck of the woods was the only one that would cause any sort of issue. In that moment Caryn felt like a moron, not realizing that attempting to get the twins to Mabel’s was going to be a lot more tricky than she was initially making it out to be.

But here she was, on the phone with the woman herself; the woman who was now demanding if the man who secretly did not care for her was okay with his children spending three months with her. Knowing how sweet Mabel was in all of Caryn and her’s interactions, she couldn’t bring herself to be honest.

“ _Yeeahh_ ,” Caryn slurred. “Yeah, Filbrick was all for the idea.”

“Well that’s just wonderful,” Mabel beamed. “When were you thinking of bringing them down?”

“The first week of June,” answered Caryn. “By plane to Portland. You can get up there and pick ‘em up right?”

“Oh sure, no problem. I’d be delighted to.”

“Great, well we’ll start making travel plans alright?”

“That sounds peachy keen to me Caryn,” Mabel chuckled to herself. “Well, I’ll speak to you soon, okay?”

“Okay Mabel, bye.”

“Bye, Caryn, tell the folks I said hi!” The phone clicked, preceding the sound of metallic clanking as the excess change was deposited.

Caryn hunched herself over and began to lightly bite her fist in a slightly panicked frenzy. She began to feel a rock grow at the pit of her stomach, and her head was in a daze. In her mind her convincing her husband to send Ford and Lee to their somewhat estranged aunt's house with whom he had no strong feelings for seemed as probable as traveling to Pluto.

Though frankly, crazier things had happened to the Pines family, herself included; and she had on multiple occasions convinced her husband of doing many of things comparable and greater than that of transporting the kids to Gravity Falls. So maybe discussing this with Filbrick would be no problem. Hell, he may not actually have that big of a grudge against Mabel and be completely open to the idea off the bat.

“Absolutely not!” Filbrick boomed.

“Oh c’mon,” moaned Caryn.

“Caryn, you know my feelings about Mabel,” detailed Filbrick. “So why on earth would you go behind my back and make plans for the twins to spend the summer with her?”

“I don’t know, it seemed like the best option at the time. Camps would just constrain the two of them, and nobody else in our either of our families seemed to be that great of choices.”

“So you decided to send them to Mabel of all people?!” shouted Filbrick.

“Look if I’m being honest,” Caryn said, with her voice raising in intensity. “I don’t really get why you hate this woman so much. She seems like a perfectly decent person from my point of view.”

“Oh really?” Filbrick said bemused.

“Yeah,” snidely replied Caryn. “Y'know what? I'll vouch for her. She was always nicest person to chat with at the Pines family shindigs.”

“Caryn, you were only getting one side of the story. You only met the damn woman like, what, _two_ times?”

“ _Three_ , Filbrick, it was three.”

“Whatever,” Filbrick waved off. “That’s not the point.”

“What is then?” Caryn demanded.

“Caryn, when Mabel was a teen, she was kicked out of her family's home. For the next 10+ years, she was participating in a variety of criminal activity up in New York and around the tri-state area. She probably would have gotten sent to federal penitentiary if wasn't for her getting a letter from her estranged brother, Dipper.”

"Wait, she had a brother named Dipper?” said Caryn snickering.

“Nickname,” Filbrick corrected. “The man’s real name was Matthew, or, Mason, or something, I dunno. Anyway, she gets a letter from her brother telling her to come to his place in Gravity Falls, Oregon And after two weeks, the family gets a note saying that Dipper was out doing work with Eskimos up in the Yukon. After that, we haven’t heard from him since.”

“So what, you’re saying that she killed him in order to take the house?” inquired Caryn.

“Well some cops from the county showed up to investigate, but there wasn’t any evidence to convict. And the rest of the town was playing dumb, like they didn’t even know there was a man who even lived in the house beforehand.”

“So what’s she doing up there now?” Caryn implored.

“I dunno,” Filbrick sighed. “Last I heard about her she was running some sort of tourist trap out of her house. Typical if you ask me.” Filbrick grimaced a bit as he shifted his weight against the desk he was leaning on. Caryn stood up and walked over to her husband and wrapped her arms around his neck as she stood beside him.

“Listen,” Caryn cooed. “I understand that you and your aunt aren’t necessarily on the best of terms at the moment. And I get that her past is a bit unsavory at best.”

“ _At best_?” Filbrick interjected with a tone of bewilderment.

“Well okay, maybe just flat out dismaying, but whatever,” Caryn shrugged. “The point is I have made plans with her already; and knowing that she is a very sort of passionate and out there type of woman, she would be devastated and confused that we would cancel such plans.

“Besides, I think enough time’s past. She’s probably a much better person than she was in her days of swindling and crime. It’s not like tourist traps are the worst businesses to run these days. You act like we don’t live in a town where hucksters run the frickin’ amusement parks.”

Filbrick smirked for a second, before returning his visage to the consistent stern look always plastered there.

“Oh honey,” he exhaled. “I know where you're coming from, but I just don’t feel comfortable in sending Ford and Lee to an aunt they’ve never met. What if they don’t even like the woman?”

A lightbulb went off in Caryn’s head. “Well why don’t we make that the caveat?” she said.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Well since this is kind of uncharted waters for the both of us, and especially for the twins, why don’t we gage whether or not to keep the twins there based on their opinion of Mabel after a month. If they like her a lot, they’ll stay, if not, we’ll take them back home, no questions asked.”

Filbrick furrowed his brow and poked at the underside of his chin. “You know what?” he stated. “Let’s do it.”

Caryn's face began to beam immediately; her eyes wider than Filbrick had ever seen them in his life. “Oh thank you baby, thank you!” she exclaimed while pecking him on the cheek.

“Hey, this only because you insisted so much,” Filbrick said while rolling his eyes. "If my word was final in this house like it was with my pop, the twins would be staying right here.”

“Well it's a good thing you got some of your Ma in ya, huh?” teased Caryn.

“Hmph, you wish,” snorted her husband.

* * *

The most common sounds one would hear if they were a fly on the wall in the Pines residence around 6 p.m. every night would be that of either parent hollering for their kids to come down for food, followed by the trampling of adolescent feet underneath aged wood. Tonight was no different, as Ford and Lee barrelled down the stairs to have what was one of their favorite meals: mostaccioli with Texas toast.

While the twins scarfed down their food, Caryn and Filbrick kept eyeing one another, waiting on when it would be the perfect time to spring the news onto their children. These slight interactions were not lost on the Pines kids, as whenever they weren’t babbling about average school occurrences or scooping pasta into their mouths, they would pause for a half-second, pondering why their parents kept side glancing each other. Finally, it came to an en passe.

“Hey,” braved Ford. “Why do you two keep looking at each other like that.” He shuddered for a moment. “Is it your anniversary again?”

“Anniversary?!” exclaimed Lee. “Oh jeez, I didn’t buy a card. Hold on, I’ll scrap something together, how much money do you two want in it?”

“Oh don’t worry,” said Caryn. “It’s not our anniversary. Though I don’t remember ever getting cards from either of you two when it was.”

“Well it could've been different this time,” Lee stated defensively. “I could’ve really done something spectacular for ya. Something to show off to all your friends.”

“But you just said you didn’t get one.”

“That’s why I said ‘could’ve’.”

Caryn rolled her eyes. “The reason why me and your father have been glancing at each other the whole night is because we have a surprise for you two.” The two of them jumped up out of their chairs simultaneously.

“Oh man what is it?” Ford asked ecstatically.

“Yeah, c’mon, what is it?” demanded Lee.

“Alright, alright, calm down you two,” Caryn shouted. “Ya look like a bunch of rabid dogs right now. Well okay, me and your dad were talking earlier and we decided that we were going to send you two to your great-aunt Mabel’s house!” The two kids' faces transformed from pure excitement to abject horror.

“What?!” they both intoned violently at the same time.

“What do you mean you’re sending us to great-aunt Mabel?” questioned Lee. “I don’t even know who that is?”

“Well I’m to mostly blame for that,” Filbrick interrupted. “Mabel is my aunt, and I haven’t really talked with her all that much since grandpa died. Nothing personal, just people lose touch.

“Your great-aunt Mabel lives in Gravity Falls, Oregon at a house that doubles as a business that she runs for tourists traveling up the Pacific coast. I think you two would really like it up there.” Filbrick stated all of this with gritted teeth, attempting to put aside his differences.

“But what about the coast here? what’s wrong with Glass Shard Beach?” demanded Lee.

“There’s nothing wrong with Glass Shard,” said Caryn. “We just thought that you’s oughta get out of the state and see some different parts of the country and all that.”

“But this is unfair,” Ford chimed in. “Jason, Philip, and I were going to do a fantasy and comics group together for the summer.”

“Well maybe you could find some new friends out in Gravity Falls who would want to do something like that, Ford,” Caryn comforted.

“Not likely,” muttered Lee, who was swiftly hit by his brother. "Oww." 

“Look Ma, I know you've probably made plans for this and what not, but I honestly think this is a terrible mistake you’re making,” said Ford.

“Yeah I agree with Sixer here,” interjected Lee. “This sounds really lame, Ma.”

“Look, I know this comes as shock to the both of you,” their mom stated sternly. “But after summers filled with missing items from the shop, you to coming back home bruised and beaten, and the cops bring you’s two back to house…”

“But that was only o-” blurted Lee.

“ _Zip!_ ” Caryn interjected. “Don’t wanna hear it. The point is you two get up to so much that we would like to get you out of the house and see if a change of scenery will do you two a lot better.”

“But _c’moooon_ ,” whined Ford. “Isn’t there any way we can prove to you that we’ll behave ourselves better for the summer?”

“At this point, plans have been made; so there’s nothing I can do to go back on them,” she explained. “Besides, I’ve heard these sob stories about us finding trust in you two _sooo_ much, that I am no longer willing to compromise on nothin’ with you two anymore. The two of you are going to Gravity Falls on the first Monday of June, we clear? Now c’mon do your dishes.”

Ford and Lee grumbled as they got up from their seats and brought their plates and silverware into the sink. After finally washing and drying the dishes, the two of them marched back to their room.

“I can’t believe they did this, and without coming to us first!” Lee fumed.

“Tell me about it,” replied Ford. “I had a whole calendar’s worth of stuff planned out for the summer.” He then held up a fairly pristine looking calendar notebook from his desktop.

“Ford, the summer is only three months, you wouldn’t be able to fill a _whole_ calendar if you planned for just this season.”

“You would if you ripped out all the other pages so it’s just the months of summer!” Ford exclaimed, motioning towards the scrunched up piles of paper in the wastebasket.

“That’s...why di...that’s just a waste of...nevermind, forget it,” Lee responded whilst messaging his temple. “The main concern now is how we’re going to get out of this situation, and by what means?”

“Hmmm…,” pondered Ford. “Well, we can’t get out of Gravity Falls by breaking the law.”

“Aw, why not?” questioned his brother. “That’s the most foolproof of getting out of any obligations."

“Yeah, but then you got new obligations, like court and stuff. And besides, after the whole warehouse deal, I don’t actually want to know what getting a criminal record is like. I’m already scared to death about the whole ‘permanent record’ thing they hover over you at school.”

“Alright then poindexter, what’s your Plan B, huh?” Lee demanded.

“Let me think,” said Ford. He began to pace around the room, making clicking noises with his tongue and chewing on a ballpoint pen he picked up off his personal desk adjacent to the twins' bunk bed. All this audible consideration on Ford’s part began to thoroughly annoy Lee, who was ready to explode when his brother finally reached his eureka moment.

“I got it!” beamed Ford.

“What, what is it?” Lee desperately asked.

“We’ll stage a mutiny!”

“A what?”

“A mutiny, it’s where a group of people perform insubordinate actions as a means of replacing their leader. Ship talk, and what not.” 

“But we’re not trying to get rid of our aunt or parents are we?” asked Lee.

“No, no, no, of course not," Ford explained. "But we can use mutiny tactics if we don’t want to do what Mabel wants us to do. With this tactic, we can break her down and get her to a point in which she’ll have no better choice than to send us home.”

“Aw man, you’re a genius Ford!” Lee said excitedly. The two then went up for a high-five in celebration; or in Ford's case, a high-six. Ford, for better of for worse, would always be associated for his six digit hands that afflicted him since birth (hence the Lee-coined nickname "Sixer"). Though it was only a cosmetic issue in the purest sense, Ford was constantly hounded on for his anomalous physical trait by his peers and even to a certain extent his father. Ford was never one to be adept at sports, such as baseball. Now in actuality this was because of his poor eyesight, lack of strong hand-eye coordination, and general lack of interest in the game. To his father, the answer swung in a different direction.

"If that kid had popped like his brother, he'd be knocking those balls out of the park," Ford overheard his dad saying one night. "But he's got this stupid sixth finger that screws up his whole batting approach. Kid can't even swing the bat right for Christ's sake." The next day Ford dropped out of Glass Shard's youth league.

Even Lee still would find himself tripped up by his twin's bodily quirk. In actions like this, their always was a brief and fleeting moment in Lee’s mind over the fact that Ford’s sixth finger always stuck out a little like the sore thumb (or in this case, second pinky) that it was. It had in general been a fleeting thought for, one that always occurred ever since they were toddlers, but its jagged presence had been becoming less pronounced in these observations. In general, Lee just wanted his brother to feel normal.

“That’s right," Lee continued. "No Gravity Falls for us this summer!”

“Hey, what time is it?” Ford butted in.

“Uhhh, I think it’s almost 7, why?” his brother answered, glancing at his watch.

“The Newark Local Access station is about to start their Friday night ‘Creature Feature’,” said Ford.

“Oh crap, you’re right!” Lee exclaimed. “C’mon, let’s get to the TV before dad does.” The two then raced down to the family room in order to get a front row view for whatever was about to be exhibited on the program tonight. The television was shut on to the image of a man decked out in a top hat and a black cloak, and adorned with a goatee and pale white skin.

“Good evening little ghoulies,” the man boomed in his bassy voice. “It is I, Zenpoli, and you're watching _Features That Go Bump in the Night_. And tonight, we have a real treat for you all. We all know about the Wolfman, but now, you’ll have an opportunity to be formally introduced to one of his little hellspawns in tonight’s feature _The Wolfman’s Son_!” He then cackled as lightning screamed out of the small television’s speakers.

“Ooooh,” said the twins in a chorus. From this introduction, it sounded as if they were about to be in for a film that would leave them gripped to the cheap rug clothed over their family room floor.

An hour in and that was not the case.

“Alright son,” said the Wolfman. “Let’s work on our vowels. This is an ‘A’, which we usually say in a word like “Ahh”. Now can you say “Ahh” for me boy?”

“Ahh- _WOOO_ ,” howled the small furry child.

“GAH, _NO_ , YOU STOP THAT THIS INSTANT YOUNG MAN!!” the Wolfman hollered back in a state of disgruntlement.

Ford and Lee slightly somersaulted on the floor, laughing in response to the corniness of the movie displayed on the monochromatic screen.

“You wanna shut this off and go to bed Ford?” Lee asked.

“I dunno,” he replied. “It could get better.” The twins stared at each other for a second before doubling over again in fits of even more intense hysterics as the television continued to illuminate their faces amongst the darkness of the slumbering household.

The long day finally closes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first in many chapters that will use musical soundtracking. Music will feature heavily in the parts of the story after 1920, since the 20s is when the recording industry really takes off, and I like the idea of music being tied to the masses through recording; especially in regard to how I want to use music as a dichotomy for Mabel and Dipper as they come of age.
> 
> The Friday this chapter takes place on is May 12, 1962. All references in the radio broadcast at the beginning are all connected to actual facts and occurrences that were relative to that exact date.
> 
> I also decided that Glass Shard Beach should be near Newark. Newark has one of the biggest airports in New Jersey, so I thought by having them live in the suburbs of a town that would allow them the possibility of easily accessing an airplane voyage than if they lived somewhere else geographically in the state.
> 
> "Zenpoli" is a play on the famous Chicago creature feature presenter "Svengoolie". I'm from Chicago, but most if not all major metropolitan areas in the United States at one point or another have a guy like Svengoolie. The big one I know outside of Svengoolie was Cleveland, Ohio's Ghoulardi, who was portrayed by Ernie Anderson, father of the famed writer-director Paul Thomas Anderson (i.e. Boogie Nights, Punch Drunk Love, There Will Be Blood, etc.).
> 
> Once again, I hope you have enjoyed this chapter.


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